


Light in Dark Places

by rabidsamfan



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-28
Updated: 2008-08-28
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/pseuds/rabidsamfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>From the Beeton Off prompt at Cox & Co on livejournal:</b>  "Holmes/Hopkins/Watson: bit of bondage - Hopkins makes himself all too available to Holmes while investigating a smugglers cave. Watson decides to make an example."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light in Dark Places

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This was _going_ to be a drabble...

"That's torn it, Mr. Holmes," Stanley Hopkins said, looking at the water rising in the passage to the sea with dismay. "It'll be hours before we can get out or anyone else can get in."

"No matter," replied the detective, leading the way back up to the cavern's largest chamber, where Dr. Watson was still studying the inventory of smuggled wines. "Our reluctant hosts have provided us with all the comforts of bed and supper table. We're certain to find a way to pass the time."

Hopkins licked his lips, wishing that the tide had blocked them off from the doctor too. "We could go explore that back passage," he offered, and then blushed when Watson guffawed.

"Later, perhaps," Holmes said, casting a fond look upon his fellow-lodger. "Watson, have you been counting those bottles or investigating their contents?"

"Both," Watson admitted with an unrepentant grin. "There's a very nice claret here."

Hopkins blinked. "But that's evidence! You're drinking the evidence?"

"And eating it too," Watson said, holding up a plate with a round of cheese that had already been broached. "This is a Fougerus – a kind of Brie, you know, quite tasty. And the bread may be from yesterday, but it's still acceptable."

"Excellent." Holmes settled himself on the bedstead beside the doctor and tore a chunk of bread from the loaf that sat on the barrel which had served the smugglers as a table.

"I thought you said that eating during a case diverts blood from the brain?" Hopkins asked weakly as his preceptor made inroads into the soft cheese with a pocket-knife.

"It does!" Holmes asserted, around a sizeable mouthful. "But there's nothing left to be solved here."

"And with Trewith and Poldark already in jail there's no worrying about the villains getting away scot-free," Watson added, passing the open bottle to Holmes, who drank straight from the neck in a fashion that made the young inspector's heart beat a good deal faster. "Sit down, man, you're giving me a crick in the neck, and put something in your mouth."

Hopkins suspected that the doctor had phrased himself in that fashion deliberately, but he sat anyway, and accepted the bottle that Holmes was passing his way. With any luck, he could blame his blushes on the claret and the candlelight.

\---

Some time – and several bottles – later, Stanley Hopkins was certain that he was either in heaven or someplace quite the opposite direction. The conversation had been most stimulating – particularly Holmes' demonstration of the baritsu moves which had saved his life at Reichenbach Falls upon Hopkins' own person – a demonstration that had required the removal of coats, waistcoats and neckties on the part of both participants.

But after that the doctor had somehow mentioned salacious literature, and it had become rapidly apparent to Hopkins that a youthful perusal of his older brother's copies of "The Pearl" and a furtive sally at arms with one of the more discreet denizens of the East End had been insufficient tuition. Compared to the older men Stanley knew that he had been left with some definite deficiencies in that particular area of expertise. He'd never read Catullus, for one (a matter he meant to correct as soon as the tide turned) and he didn't even know all of the limericks!

Now he was grateful, if bemused, because the topic had turned yet again, this time to the new model darbies that had been issued to Scotland Yard not three weeks before. There was some hope that the raging stiff'un he was trying to conceal by keeping his plate in his lap would ease before he had to move.

"They're in my coat pocket," he offered, when Holmes said he'd like to see an example.

"Excellent," Holmes said, turning his head on its pale pillar of neck with the lazy grace of a swan. "Watson, my dear fellow, would you mind?"

"Not in the least," the doctor said, rising and going back behind the bed to rummage through the discarded coats. In his absence the bed sagged differently, and Hopkins tried not to gloat obviously over the warmth of having Sherlock Holmes' arm resting against his own.

Holmes turned to look at him – they were nearly nose to nose – and Stanley swallowed hard. "D-did you..." he stammered. "Didn't you... I mean, hasn't anyone showed you...?"

"Not yet," Holmes said, quite calmly, as he lay a hand against the side of Hopkins' face and leaned a little closer.

Stanley had to put one hand back to keep from falling over, but he let his lips part and closed his eyes, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen.

Except that what happened was the sudden feel of metal around his wrist and the double click of the cuffs as his arm was suddenly fastened to the rail at the end of the bed.

"Tsk, tsk," the doctor's voice came from behind. "You should never let yourself get distracted like that, Inspector."

Holmes' warmth and weight vanished and Stanley opened his eyes and made a half-hearted swing, but all that happened was that his free wrist was taken in a grip like iron.

"The new cuffs work quite nicely," Holmes observed, as he forced Stanley's hand back behind. "But the old ones are still very useful."

"It will be interesting to see which set works best," Watson said, as he took over the wrist and fastened it as well to the iron frame of the bed.

Stanley didn't know what to say, or whether to protest. Holmes was standing over him, and it was entirely obvious to eye and nose that the great detective was also harboring an erection.

"What do you mean to do?" he asked.

"Improve your education," he was told, and he couldn't help but feel a shiver of delight. He closed his eyes again as two sets of hands began to undo his collar and the buttons of his shirt. Really, he had to admit, the feel of a mustache at the back of one's neck was quite... enlightening...

"Oh, yes, please," he whispered, earning a kiss upon his forehead.

"I thought as much."

Stanley could only moan agreement. The way he was sitting put him between Holmes and the doctor, and somehow they were both pressing against him, one in front and one in back, so that he could feel their heat and smell their sweat and musk as they dealt with each other's clothing around him.

He dared to lean forward a little and kiss Holmes' chest, to try to touch his tongue against the dark aureole of nipple, but Holmes pulled away.

"Not yet, my fine young protégé," he laughed, and to Stanley's intense disappointment he and the doctor both got up and moved away from the bed.

"But I'm over here!" Stanley protested, as the two of them resumed their caresses without him.

"We know you are," Watson sighed happily, leaning heavily against the barrel as Holmes worked his way downwards.

The detective paused in his ministrations to fold his coat and place it on the floor before going to his knees in front of the doctor, and before he returned to his efforts he cast one last glance at the youngster straining his arms against the handcuffs.

"If you wish to emulate my methods, Inspector," he said didactically, "you must first learn to _observe_."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://cox-and-co.livejournal.com/168445.html).


End file.
